Lunch Roulette

My office is tucked in a
little industrial park, pretty much close to nothing as far as lunch fare is
concerned. The closest thing within grab-n-go distance is a Wendy’s off
the interstate, so that’s usually where I end up. Generally speaking, I like
Wendy’s food — they’ve got a decent selection at a decent price, and have some
reasonably healthy options on the menu. But this one in particular has
got to be the world’s worst.

We’ve nicknamed the Wendy’s noontime ordeal
“lunch roulette” — akin to Russian roulette, except with food. You pull
the trigger on your order, and you’re never really sure what you’re going to
get until it’s too late. They give you the wrong food, forget the salad
dressing, or send you off with an inordinate amount of plastic knives.
What’s in the bag today? It’s anybody’s guess.

This week they didn’t even wait until I picked
up the food to fuck with me.

Speaker: Welcome to Wendy’s. Can I take your order?

Me: I’d like a plain baked potato with butter (polite pause for order entry), a side salad with French dressing (another polite pause), and a medium Hi-C*.

*I like Hi-C. Shut up.

Speaker: OK — a baked potato, and what else?

Me: (mental sigh) A side salad with French dressing. And a medium Hi-C.

Speaker: Um… we don’t have French dressing.

Me: (strange… they had French dressing yesterday…) What are my dressing options?

Speaker: We have Fat Free French.

Me: Um.. (no, no, don’t go there — it’s just not worth it.) Yes, that will work fine.